


Loving Can Hurt Sometimes

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, because harry is technically in a female body so, border lining transgender thoughts at times, harry has a sex change, not sure if you could call it crossdressing, that's pretty much it, this isn't genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>When Harry tells them about his overnight sex change, Niall squawks, “What?” about six times in the span of a minute, Zayn asks why his breasts aren’t bigger, and Liam just blurts out, “Make me a sandwich,” which earns him a harsh smack in the head from Louis.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So, yeah. It’s not one of Harry’s better mornings.</em>
</p><p>Or, the one where Harry wakes up in a female body and maybe questions things more than he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Can Hurt Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahsaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahsaurus/gifts).



> my dearest sarahsaurus, I hope this doesn't fall too short of what you were expecting and that my inner feminist didn't butt in too much.
> 
> thank you leah (and ren too) for being patient with me when I was juggling writing this and working a slightly insane amount of hours per week. 
> 
> this wouldn't've been anything if it wasn't for the support, encouragement, and suggestions from a and b. you guys are the greatest. xx
> 
> title from ed sheeran's song, _photograph_.

Harry wakes up to something pressing uncomfortably against his chest.

 

Rolling over onto his back, he throws an arm over his face, sighing into the crook of his elbow and shaking the remnants of sleep off. The duvet’s draped over his stomach, cool air conditioning flowing across his skin. It’s only when he absently rubs a hand down his chest that he notices it isn’t as flat as he remembers it to be. Huh..?

 

Frowning, he lifts his arm up and looks down his body. There are two odd lumps curving upward from his pecs, which--um. All right. Last time he checked, he didn’t have boobs so this is a peculiar turn of events that he didn’t see coming.

 

Gently, he cups one breast, massaging it slowly. He knows it’s going to be soft, but actually feeling it himself, when it’s attached to his body, is a whole new thing. It’s, like, mushy, a little squishy even. But it also kind of hurts when he squeezes. Still, he sort of... likes it.

 

Feeling less queasy, he slides his other hand down to cradle the other breast, kneading them with each hand. It feels kind of nice, not really arousing or anything, but just touching them is nice.

 

His nipples are pink, tiny hairs framing them. They’ve always been slightly sensitive and now that they’re perked up from the slightly chill air in the room, Harry flicks his forefinger against one curiously, and that’s-- _oh_. He shivers a bit from the sensation that jolts through his body. But he doesn’t feel it in his dick, which means...

 

Swallowing nervously, he peals the covers back and peeks down, heart in this throat. Between his legs there’s--there’s--well, there’s no penis, that’s for sure. Like, he doesn’t have a dick. At all. Instead, he has a cunt. It sounds vulgar, but that’s exactly what it is, that’s what he’s got.

 

“Fuck,” he gasps, dropping the duvet and hiding his face in his hands. Fuck, _fuck_. What the hell is going on? He lets out a shuddery breath, willing himself to calm down.

 

Right, so sometime between falling asleep and waking up, Harry got a sex change. Awesome. Wait what if his voice isn’t deep anymore and became all high-pitched? How is he going to sing with the band? 

 

He doesn’t get to ponder on the issue too longer, because he hears a voice coming from the bathroom. Oh, shit, _Louis_. Christ, how is he going to _explain_ this to him? Because he doesn’t think something like, ‘oh, hey babe, turns out I’m a female now?’ will suffice.

 

“Harry?” Louis calls out to him, still sounding distant, but closer than before. The unease feeling in Harry’s gut only grows.

 

Very gingerly, he spreads his fingers and peeks through them. A brief glance about shows him that he’s still in the hotel room that he and Louis went to bed in, so the only that seems to have changed is him. Or did the same thing happen to Louis? Has Harry woken up in some kind of alternate universe where the lads are all females now? Oh, god, _the lads_.

 

His eyes fly open and he sits up so fast it makes his head spin. Everything is just how he remembers, suitcase by the bed, clothes scattered across the floor. A spark of arousal rushes up his spine as images from last night flash through his mind, how he and Louis stripped out of their clothes, high off the adrenaline of the gig, and fell into bed together, hands scrambling to touch each other. He shouldn’t think about that though, because he isn’t exactly sure of how his body is going to react toward sexual thoughts right yet. 

 

Releasing an anxious puff of air, he surveys his body again, extending his arms and rotating them. All of his tattoos seem to be in place, which is a relief. With how they’re now etched just above his breasts, the swallows look a bit eccentric, but they’re kind of alluring at the same time. Is it wrong to find one’s body appealing? Jesus, this is so weird. He can’t quite see the wings of the butterfly on his stomach, because his boobs are in the way. (Harry doesn’t know how he feels about that.)

 

He can’t help but bring his hands back over, itching to touch and intrigued at the same time. His breasts aren’t big at all. He can fit his hands over them easily, can even intertwine his fingers together across the space between them. But there’s no mistaken them for toned and bulky muscles. They’re fuller and rounder, bulging from his chest. There won’t be a way to conceal them if he wears a t-shirt.

 

Shit, he didn’t think about that before, but it’s true. It’ll be nearly impossible to hide them.

 

As if things aren’t fucked up already, Louis chooses that moment to enter the room. Harry jerks his head up at the sound of his footsteps, finding Louis ambling toward the bed, a clean towel wrapped around his waist and a hand carding through his hair. He freezes in his footsteps when he sees Harry, who still has his palms pressed to his breasts.

 

Louis looks speechless, lips parting around a silent _oh_ , eyebrows raised. Well, at least he doesn’t seem appalled or upset. “Um,” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowing like he’s thinking too hard. Instead of saying anything else, he shuts his mouth, a wrinkle forming on the bridge of his nose. 

 

Harry just blows out a breath through his mouth, running his hands down his torso and clenching them into fist atop his thighs. He can’t meet Louis’ gaze, feeling too sheepish and confused by it all.

 

“Hazza?” Louis’ voice comes out softer, and somehow the nickname suddenly just makes everything worse. Harry curls in on himself, cocooning his body in his arms. He doesn’t know what’s happened or how or when or even if he’ll ever change back, and he kind of feels small and hopeless right now, a little lost in his own skin.

 

Thankfully, Louis makes his way over toward Harry without any more hesitation, bundling him up in his arms. Overwhelmed, Harry tucks his face into Louis’ neck, promising himself not to cry, because that would just make him feel even shittier. 

 

“Baby,” Louis whispers, tender fingers massaging Harry’s scalp. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s all right.” Harry presses into his touch, not knowing what’s come over him. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so uneasy or gross or uncomfortable in his own body before, like a stranger.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he murmurs, voice not nearly as low as he could’ve sworn it was the previous day.

 

“It’s okay, darling,” Louis says, combing his fingers through Harry’s curls. He tilts his head to kiss Harry on the forehead. “We’ll figure it out.” He draws back to look at Harry, palms underneath Harry’s jaw. “So you just... woke up like this?”

 

Harry sniffs, nodding. “Yeah.” He’s never really cared about being naked before, always thought it was liberating and he isn’t shy, but right now he wants to cover himself up. It feels weird to just have his tits out. “Did you notice anything when you woke up?”

 

“I didn’t,” Louis replies with a shake of his head. “But it’s not like I was actively looking for something that could be different. All I know is that you were by my side when I opened my eyes and that’s all the reassurance I needed.” He plants a kiss to Harry’s temple, lips soft against Harry’s skin. Harry leans into it, chasing the touch, feeling better now that he’s in Louis’ arms. “Your hair’s a little longer,” Louis comments, fingers running a path through Harry’s locks.

 

Harry lights up at his words. “Really?” he wonders, stealing a glance at the length of his hair. He’s been growing it out for the longest time.

 

“It is,” Louis confirms and Harry feels like a cat getting petted, preening under the attention. He lays his head on top of Louis’ shoulder, snuggling closer, while Louis winds an arm around his back, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s arm. 

 

They’re practically pressed skin to skin, but it feels different this time, because Harry has boobs and they’re soft and warm and plump and it’s nice, but a little weird too. His mind’s an influx of jumbled feelings at the moment, hence why he isn’t really making much sense.

 

He knows that Louis is staring at his breasts, because he’s looking down at them too. Neither one of them is saying anything though. Harry doesn’t know how to register the feeling of his boob brushing against the fuzz of Louis’ chest hair. Maybe he’s too scared to admit that he’ll like it, like laying naked on top of Louis with their bare chests touching, Harry’s breasts pressed up against Louis’ body.

 

Yeah, he might enjoy that more than he should.

 

Louis clears his throat above him, bringing him back to reality. Harry pulls away and peers up at him. “Is, um,” Louis pauses, lowering his gaze, lips threatening to break into a bashful smile. “You know, uh--” He waves his hand at Harry’s crotch, cheeks flushing.

 

It takes Harry a moment to realize what Louis is trying to say, but a surprised chuckle bubbles out of him once he does. “Yeah, I. I don’t have a dick.” 

 

“What a shame,” Louis tells him, “I’ve grown quite fond of your dick.”

 

“It’s grown quite fond of you too,” Harry says, playing along. Dipping down, he bites cheekily at Louis’ exposed collarbone, nibbling for a second before drawing back. Louis looks even more flustered than before, a tiny, red imprint blooming on his skin. Harry gives him a cheeky grin. “But I can still do that.”

 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, babe,” Louis chides jokingly and gets up.

 

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Who says I can’t finish?” He curls his hands around Louis’ bum and tugs him forward, parting his lips when they touch Louis’ skin. They had sex last night, but Harry is almost starving for it, breathing heavily against Louis’ stomach and groping his arse. 

 

He’s already kissing down toward the waistband of Louis’ pants when Louis pulls away, shaking his head, but trying not to smile at the same time. “None of that, you old scoundrel,” he says, fixing his fringe. Harry just pouts, stubbornly like a child. “Oh, no no no.” Louis points a finger at him like he’s about to scold him. Harry just wants to suck on it. “Don’t you give me those eyes, Styles.”

 

“But, Lou, please?” he draws out the last word, jutting his bottom lip out.

 

“No,” Louis tells him, “You know how I feel about--” he gestures toward Harry’s crotch again with his hand “--that. I’d hate not being able to get you off. And we have a gig tonight, so no distractions.”

 

“I’m a distraction?” Harry asks, not knowing if he should feel offended or pleased.

 

Louis scoffs, adjusting his towel, skin beautifully tan. “A bloody insufferable one too.”

 

Harry grins, appreciating the compliment, but then his mind does a double take because, right they have a concert tonight. Fuck. No way in hell is he ready for that. He groans out loud and falls back onto the bed, scrubbing a hand down his face. Today is just setting up to be a real shit show. Splendid. Absolutely splendid.

 

He’s about to sigh again, but then feels fingers roaming up his torso and moves his hand away. Louis is crawling over to him on all fours when Harry notices him, towel abandoned and hair disheveled. Despite there being a thin blanket between them, Louis doesn’t lean down, opts to hovering above Harry with his hands planted beside Harry’s head and his knees bracketing Harry’s thighs. Harry’s glad that he does that, because he doesn’t know how his body would handle the feeling of Louis pressing him into the mattress, even if it is supposed to be chaste.

 

Tilting his head to the side, he puckers his lips against Louis’ wrist, giving his rope tattoo a delicate kiss. He sucks in a breath and glances up at him, exhaling when he meets his gaze. Louis chooses to remain silent, the corners of his mouth pushed into an enamoured smile as he tenderly brushes the curls away from Harry’s face. Dipping down, he presses a lingering peck to Harry’s forehead, then to his cheek, the edge of his jaw, until Harry beckons for one to his lips with a tipping of his head. Christ, Harry is so, so in love with him. He still can’t seem to figure out how he got so lucky.

 

“What on earth am I going to do with you, H?” Louis asks when they separate and he rests his forehead against Harry’s.

 

Harry chuckles and gives Louis another kiss, smiling uncontrollably. “Love me,” he says, pulling back and going cross-eyed from looking up at Louis so close.

 

“Hm, already do,” Louis tells him, beaming as he presses their mouths together once more, raising a hand to cradle the side of Harry’s face. And Harry moans into in, parting his lips for more, more, more, but Louis breaks away with a snicker and a wrinkling of his nose in distaste. He kisses Harry’s pout and then says, “You should go brush your teeth, sweetheart.”

 

“That hasn’t stopped us before,” Harry reminds him, leaning up for another kiss that Louis dodges, chuckling as he pushes off of Harry.

 

“Come on, get dressed. We need to go tell the lads.” Harry just groans and sits up, watching Louis root around in his suitcase for clothes. Louis glances over his shoulder after a few, quiet seconds. “Were you just ogling my arse?”

 

“What?” Harry smirks, “Can’t look at my boyfriend’s bum now that I’ve got a vagina?” Louis sticks his tongue out at him and Harry laughs, glad that even though he woke up in a different body, Louis still hasn’t changed a one bit.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Unfortunately, the lads don’t take the news like Louis did.

 

When Harry tells them about his overnight sex change, Niall squawks, “ _What_?” about six times in the span of a minute, Zayn asks why his breasts aren’t bigger, and Liam just blurts out, “Make me a sandwich,” which earns him a harsh smack in the head from Louis.

 

So, yeah. It’s not one of Harry’s better mornings.

 

“How come your tits aren’t bigger?” Zayn asks again, rolling over onto his stomach to look up at Harry, who’s standing in the middle of the room in just a white t-shirt and black underwear. His boxer briefs don’t bulge around his crotch, and it sort of looks weird now, because it makes it seem like they’re too big on him, since they don’t fit him out anymore.

 

Thinking about wearing panties makes him queasy though, so he hasn’t said anything.

 

“I don’t know,” he says in reply to Zayn’s question, shrugging and pinching his bottom lip between this thumb and forefinger. “It’s not like I asked for small boobs. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

 

Liam perks up from where he’s leaning against the headboard beside Zayn. “Does this mean you’ll have to wear a bra?”

 

“I don’t--” Harry cuts himself off as the question sinks in. _Does this mean you’ll have to wear a bra_? He glances over to Louis--who’s sitting in an armchair--for guidance, but he seems just as clueless as Harry feels. “Should I?” he asks the lads, gauging their reactions. 

 

Zayn looks indifferent, Niall still looks like he’s in shock, and Liam says, “Well, what size are they?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Harry replies lamely. As if he knows how bra sizes work.

 

“Let’s see them then.”

 

“I--” and wait, why is he hesitating? These are his best mates; they only want what’s best for him. Plus, it’s pretty much the same except that now he has more like, definition to his chest area alongside his nipples. How come he has to cover up his breasts, but not when he just has a chest with nipples? “Yeah, all right.” Carefully--because his nipples are still hard and he’s found that they’re sensitive sometimes even to the lightest touch, which is infuriating--he takes his top off, tossing it onto the bed that the lads are on.

 

The air conditioning bites at his skin instantly, prickling his body with goosebumps. He feels a tiny bit self-conscious, what with four pairs of eyes fixed on his breasts, but steps toward the bed nevertheless when the lads all crowd around him to get a better look.

 

They all just--stare, as though they’re looking for something. Harry starts to get anxious after a few seconds and prompts, “Well?”

 

“I dunno,” Liam muses, leaning back to sit on his haunches. “I’d say you’re a B-cup.”

 

“A B-cup,” Harry repeats. That doesn’t sound so bad, granted Harry doesn’t know what it means but hey. “So, is that like… good?”

 

“Yeah.” Liam nods very solemnly like they’re talking about something serious rather than bra sizes. “You’ve got average size tits.” Average size breasts, okay, Harry can work with that. Liam nudges Zayn in the ribs, glancing over at him. “What’d ya reckon.”

 

Zayn shrugs, an undecided upturn to his lips. “All I know is that Perrie’s are a size C and yours look smaller than that so.”

 

“Soph’s a C-cup too,” Liam adds, “And yours don’t look as big as hers either, so you’re probably a B-cup.” 

 

Okay, that may have been more information about those two girls than Harry ever wanted to know, but all right.

 

His gaze shifts over to Niall, who really hasn’t said too much since Harry first told them about this whole mess. “Niall?” He’s got this sort of bewildered gleam in his eyes that makes Harry uneasy. “Ni?” Niall snaps out of his daze at the sound of Harry’s voice, blushing a deep shade of red, and alerts his gaze quickly. “Hey, what is it?” Harry asks, concerned.

 

If possible, Niall seems to flush even more at that. He peeks up at Harry after a moment an enquiry in his eyes. His voice is uncharacteristically quiet when he whispers, “Could I touch them?”

 

Harry’s so stumped by the question that he just gapes at Niall, unable to fathom what his friend just asked him. But… but it’s _Niall_ , and he looks so bashful and innocent and it’s not like Harry minds anyway...

 

The affirmation is stuck in the back of his throat, but he manages a shaky nod, taking a step closer as Niall rises up onto his knees. There’s an odd air to the room as everyone watches Niall stretch out his arms and gingerly cup Harry’s breasts, one in each hand. He’s rougher than Harry was on himself, smoothing his fingers over the softest parts and squeezing them in his palms. It’s when he rubs of the pads of his thumbs over both nipples that Harry buckles at the knees. He can’t stop the soft moan that escapes him, body betraying him by itching for more.

 

“All right.” Louis clears his throat loudly, the jealous boyfriend that he is, stepping in and sending Niall a glare that has him dropping his hands.

 

“Sorry,” Niall apologises, cheeks still a bit rosy. “They’re just--I didn’t think that they’d feel that real.” He reaches down and tugs at his pants. “Fuck, you got me a little hard bro.” He throws in a chuckle to lighten the mood, but Harry doesn’t miss the way he palms himself for some relief.

 

That’s not something Harry thought about until now, how he could turn the lads on. And he knows that it’s not _him_ his friends find attractive, that it’s just the female body, but it brings an unsettling feeling to his stomach.

 

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Louis butts in, shoving Harry’s t-shirt into his hands. Harry sort of clutches it to his stomach and stands there speechless.

 

“Aw, come on Tommo,” Liam teases, “Just because you’re not into tits doesn’t mean you have to spoil it for the rest of us.” Zayn snickers next to him, a lazy smirk etched across his lips.

 

“Actually, you must be out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to let any of you so much as lay a hand on Harry,” Louis snaps, and oh shit, that slightly possessive look in his eyes is doing things to Harry’s insides. “If you don’t like that, then you can just leave the band. Harry isn’t a piece of meat you can sample.”

 

Harry doesn’t know what it feels like to get wet, but he thinks that he might as of now.

 

“Louis,” he tries, hoping no one picks up on the way his voice cracks at the end. “It’s fine.”

 

“We were just taking the piss,” Liam pipes in, sneering and stealing a glance at Niall. “Nothing to get riled up about.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and looks away annoyed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Now’s not really the time. We need to get Harry--”

 

“Lingerie!” Niall shouts, giggling like he does when he’s had one too many beers. Harry blushes a little. (Lingerie still sounds like some kind of raunchy clothing line in his head.)

 

“Yeah, that,” Louis mumbles, frowning at Niall’s immaturity.

 

“So what are you gonna do? Put on some sunglasses and go shopping at Victoria’s Secret?” Liam asks, scratching his bread idly.

 

“Of course not, Leeyum,” Louis says dryly, pacing slightly around the bed.

 

“You could just nick a bra from one of the crew,” Zayn suggests.

 

“Wouldn’t that be gross though?” Niall says, “Like, wearing something that someone else has had their boobs on?”

 

“And who would have a bra that would fit around the width of Harry’s torso?” Liam points out.

 

“Well we don’t really have a choice, do we?” Louis is biting his fingernails, looking at the lads. He shifts his eyes toward Harry, eyebrows raised in question.

 

Harry thinks about how he’d look with the buttons of his top undone down to sternum, a racy bra peeking between the folds, cross necklace hanging between the dip of his breasts. He doesn’t really want to make a big display, but he might never get another chance at this, with this new body, and a part of him wants to go all out, to do it properly, the whole shebang.

 

Hesitantly, he nods, gnawing on his bottom lip unsurely. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

 

Niall whoops for some reason, but then again, he’s the carefree and cheerful one, Liam smiles encouragingly, loyal as always, Zayn and Louis look like they’re already thinking of a plan, and Harry just really, really loves his boys. Couldn’t have asked for any better ones.

 

“Okay.” Louis claps his hands together to bring everyone’s attention back to him. “So, the best thing for us to do would be to split up, gather what we can find, and then retaliate back here. Everyone in?” There are nods from the other lads, and Harry is practically buzzing already. “Right then. How’s half an hour sound, good?” Another round of nods that has Louis grinning, lips lifting into a smile that show his teeth. “Brilliant. Try not to get caught and don’t tell anyone what’s going on.” His eyes land on Harry next, just as the lads are getting up. “As for you, my love, ‘fraid you’re going to have to sit out this one. Can’t risk someone seeing you just yet.”

 

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Louis comes to stand by his side and the words die in his throat. He’s still shorter than Harry, full of radiating energy that Harry can’t get enough of.

 

“We’ll get through this yeah?” he asks. Instead of answering, Harry kisses his lips, trusting him. Louis looks like sunshine when they pull apart. He turns to the lads, beaming, and says, “Let’s do this.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

They don’t exactly go right away, because it’s already almost noon and they’re all starving. They order room service and lounge around in the hotel eating until they’re full and decide to finally head out on their search.

 

Harry’s left alone with nothing really to do. He ends up playing some app called 2048 that one of the boys probably installed on his phone. Sprawled out on his and Louis’ bed, he’s on what feels like his hundredth try when the door swings opens and the lads walk in.

 

He’s about to ask what took them so long, because it’s nearly two and they have sound check in a couple of hours, but sees the suspicious bags in their hands and freezes. Sitting up, he tosses his phone to the side as they shuffle in, bright grins lighting their faces, quietly chit-chatting. Eyeing what they’re carrying, he asks, “How much did you get?”

 

“Probably too much,” Niall snickers and toes off his shoes, then promptly jumps on the bed. He dumps his bag unceremoniously into Harry’s lap and falls back against the mattress, hair fanning out behind his head. “Christ, that was exhausting.”

 

“You barely even did anything!” Liam complains from where he’s taking off his trainers as well.

 

“Keeping watch is nerve-racking,” Niall insists, rubbing a hand down his stomach leisurely. “Almost got caught like three times. And distracting people while you loot in their suitcases is tiring.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Liam deadpans, shaking his head and sitting down beside Harry.

 

“Well, Zayner and I found some very lovely things,” Louis comments, throwing a smirk at the others while he kicks off his Vans. He walks over to the bed with a swaggering gait, presenting his bag to Harry like it’s a prize. Harry takes it from him, veins pulsing with nervousness.

 

Inside there is an assortment of knickers. Wow.

Harry... Harry is completely speechless.

Like, he knew that the lads were getting these for him, but he didn’t _actually_ realise, like fully wrap his mind around the concept that yeah, they’re really _getting_ them.

 

He looks into the bag Niall gave him, finding it filled with various bras. Oh jesus.

 

“Lads...” he doesn’t even know whether to be grateful or terrified. Everything is happening so fast, and his brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

 

“No need to thank us or anything,” Niall says dryly, slumped against the pillows.

 

“Give him a moment to let it all sink in,” Liam suggests, crossing his legs and looking up at Harry expectantly.

 

“I--yeah, um. Thanks guys,” Harry croaks out. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Liam tells him, “Just try them on.” He reaches over and curls his fingers around Harry’s forearm, giving him a reassuring smile. Harry’s smile doesn’t quite make it to his eyes when he tries to return it.

 

Shakily, he puts the bags onto the bed and stands up. Taking a deep breath, he faces the lads, anxiousness rising up in him. There are too many mixed feeling boiling underneath the surface, and Harry doesn’t know what to make of them. One part of him thinks that he should wear women clothing to accommodate his female body, but another part isn’t all for it, because he doesn’t _feel_ like a girl at all really. He just feels like himself.

 

“Sunshine?” Harry knows it’s Louis without even having to look up, because no one else calls him by that pet name. When he does though, he sees that Louis’ eyebrows are furrowed, a worried line pressed between his lips. “You don’t have to,” he reminds Harry.

 

But that’s the thing, Harry kind of wants to. He kind of wants to put on a bra and panties and make up and heels and then he doesn’t. He can’t think straight.

 

“I--” he sucks in a steady breath though his nose, letting it out. He might as well try some of the clothes. It can’t hurt, can it? Plus, the lads did go out of their way to bring all these things for him.

 

On board with the decision, Harry seises the bag with the knickers first, reckoning they’re not that different from boxer briefs and therefore he won’t feel so out of his element wearing them.

 

The first pair of panties he pulls out are just a plain blue colour with a white waistband. He’s careful as he lays them out on the bed, then quickly pulls his pants down--trying not to think about how the lads are all probably looking at his unshaven cunt--and slips into the underwear.

 

They’re surprisingly a pretty decent fit on him, hugging his arse nicely, waistband coming to rest at his love handles. The soft material feels nice against his skin too. He can already feel his lips twitching into a smile, because he _likes_ them, likes how they look and feel on him, how it feels _normal_ and _okay_ to wear them.

 

Hands on hips, Harry glances up at the lads, a grin threatening to break across his face. The encouraging look in their eyes rises pride up in Harry. Pride and fierce love for his boys.

 

“They look good,” Niall says first, a genuine tone in his voice. The others nod their agreement, smiling at him brightly.

 

“All right,” Harry murmurs, hands moving swiftly to remove the knickers and grab another one from the bag, feeling jittery all over.

 

The next ones are too tight, elastic digging into his thighs, and Harry doesn’t fancy the abstract design on them too much either. On the third pair, the waistband is narrower, reduced to a thin strip at the sides. There’s less coverage over his arsecheeks too, so the curve of his bum is more exposed in them. It’s not exactly a thong, but it’s fairly close. The satin feels amazing against his skin though, elegant and smooth. He puts them with the first ones he tired on, not even bothering to ask the lads for their opinion, because he has a strong inclination they’ll say that like them too.

 

Despite becoming optimistic and somewhat giddy afterwards, he doesn’t find any success with the next few panties. They’re either too small and he can’t pull them up past his hips, or they’re too snug against his body, or just don’t feel comfortable on him in general.

 

When he gets to the last pair, he’s almost ready to give up and call it quits, because his self-esteem is withering after so many disappointing knickers. He knows that it hardly has anything to do with him and that the lads just grabbed whatever they could find and hoped for the best, but he can’t help but feel a little shitty about it anyway.

 

He doesn’t even give the panties a second glance once he slides them on, already tugging them down. What stops him in his tracks is one of the lads shouting, “Harry, wait!” 

 

Thumbs hooked around the waistband, Harry flicks his gaze up. The look on his friends’ faces isn’t one he expected. They look, like, they’re in _awe_ or something, mouths hanging open, eyebrows arching. Harry’s at a loss as to why though.

 

“Erm... what?” he asks, eyes jumping from one lad to the next.

 

“You look--” Zayn doesn’t finish the sentence, instead lets out a stunned sigh that turns into a chuckle when Liam whistles softly beside him.

 

Harry’s eyebrows pull together, confused, and he spins on his heels, heading toward the long mirror near the doorway. He’s about to turn around and tell the lads to stop mucking about, but then he catches sight of his reflection and the air in his lungs feels like it gets sucked out.

 

The knickers he’s wearing are violet in colour and spotted with little, black polka dots. But that’s not what makes his heart speed up. At the bottom, there’s a border of black lace, ruffles lining the edge, curving almost perfectly around his body.

 

He doesn’t know what it is, maybe it’s a combination of everything, but he feels so--so _sexy_ in them, like he could rule the world and have everyone on their knees for him.

 

Lifting the hem of his top up, he twirls around slowly, admiring how the colour stands out against his skin, how the lace looks around the swell of his arse. Before he can make a conscious effort to stop them, his fingers skim over the fabric, brushing against the trim of the material. His bum doesn’t fill out the underwear quite as well as it probably could if it was bigger, but he looks fucking hot regardless.

 

On top of all of that, there’s also a tiny, black bow on the front, and yeah, Harry might be in love with these knickers already. They’re just so dainty and velvety and he just wants to keep them on forever, because they make him feel good about himself, empowered somehow too.

 

Letting go of his t-shirt, he turns back to face the lads, biting his bottom lip, nerves bouncing through him. For a moment, he thinks they will see him in an objectifying way, but there’s no lust or hunger behind their eyes. They look impressed and pleased on Harry’s behalf, like they’ve helped him achieve something great, like they’re _proud_ of him.

 

Harry’s so moved by their compassion that he thinks he might cry. “Guys,” he says, chuckling and blinking the tears away. He walks over to the bed, fingers toying with the hem of his top, smiling insecurely.

 

“Wow,” Niall breathes, “Harry, you look good.”

 

“Really good, mate,” Zayn adds, an astonished purse to his lips.

 

“That’s like the perfect fit for you,” Liam compliments and Harry feels his cheeks start to heat up from all the flattery.

 

There’s still one person’s approval that he’s dying to hear.

 

Harry knows Louis wouldn’t say anything that would hurt his feelings, but that doesn’t stop him from seeking Louis’ eyes charily. “Lou?”

 

And god, when Louis meets Harry’s gaze, there’s an endearing smile on his face, close-lipped, but unmistakably heartfelt. “So gorgeous babe,” he says softly, and Harry could kiss him, but thinks he’ll save that for later. 

 

“Thank you,” he tells him, then focuses his attention back on the others. “Thank you guys so much.” They’re all grinning at him and Harry doesn’t remember the last time he felt so over the moon.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Unlike how he liked the knickers, Harry doesn’t really fancy the bras.

 

First off, they’re a pain in the arse to clasp behind his back. He ends up just hooking the straps together and tugging the bra over his head, pulling it down until the cups are holding his breasts. Secondly, none of the ones he tries on--none of the ones that fit anyway--feel comfortable.

 

Sure they're cute and nice, but they’re just not for him. Plus, he doesn’t think his breasts really need that much support anyway. He’s going to stick to his panties.

 

After Harry finishes sorting through everything the lads got for him, they bring the items he doesn’t keep back to whom they originally belong to, even though the four of them barely remember who those people are.

 

Once they take care of that, they head off to sound check. Harry wears an oversized jumper so that his breasts don’t look that visible. His voice isn’t as deep as it usually is, but the change in pitch isn’t--thankfully--that noticeable.

 

In fact, no one recognises any changes in Harry whatsoever, or if they do they just don’t say anything. Either way, he couldn’t be more grateful. 

 

The lads have just been so great about this whole thing too, supportive and non-judgmental. And Louis has been an angel from the start, but what else is new. 

 

When they wrap up sound check, Harry and Louis retreat back to their room for some dinner and some alone time. As much as they love the other lads, they need their own privacy too, especially on a crazy day such as this one.

 

Dinner is lovely, because Louis doesn’t make it weird, treats Harry like nothing is different, and it just makes Harry love him that much more. 

 

He’s blow drying his hair, fresh out of the shower, when Louis comes up behind him and presses against his back, chin hooked over his shoulder and arms wound around his middle. Harry grins stupidly at his reflection, putting down the blow dryer so he can rest his hands on top of Louis’, leaning into his embrace.

 

The corners of Louis’ mouth tug upward and he tilts his head to kiss Harry’s neck, still smiling as he puckers his lips against Harry’s skin. He squeezes him tight, nosing at the curls at the nape of his neck, and Harry loves the way he can feel Louis’ chest move against his body as he breathes. 

 

“Hi, darling,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear. “You smell nice.”

 

Harry bursts out laughing, pushing Louis away, because he’s _ridiculous_ , but Louis won’t let him go, giggling into the side of his throat. “You’re such a creep,” he says, but of course it comes out fondly. “Going around smelling me.”

 

“I love your smell,” Louis murmurs, “It’s the thing I like the most about you.” Reaching up, he combs his fingers through Harry’s hair. “That, or your curls.” Harry almost melts from his touch. Louis always knows how to tug on his hair just the way he likes it.

 

Closing his eyes, Harry turns his head, blindly searching for Louis’ lips. It takes only a moment for Louis to respond, pressing a kiss to Harry’s mouth and parting his lips to slide his tongue inside. Harry hums at that, twisting in Louis’ arms until he can push Louis against the sink counter and get his hands on Louis’ hips. Louis sinks his fingers into Harry’s curls, breathing into Harry’s mouth lightly.

 

There’s a second when Harry think they’re going to finally snog senselessly, but then Louis draws back and the moment shatters. Harry whines at little at the loss, because he hasn’t properly made out with his boyfriend in what feels like ages and that’s just not fair. 

 

Louis cups Harry’s face and presses their foreheads together. “I got something for you,” he says, a smile settling atop his lips.

 

“A present?” Harry asks, disappointment quickly forgotten. Louis nods and grabs his hand, leading him into the bedroom area. Harry is so excited he can’t keep a lurking smile at bay, grinning the whole time Louis pulls him toward the bed.

 

He nearly stops in his tracks when he sees it: a sheer, black shirt lying on the covers. “Louis...” he shallows, lungs feeling constricted. How is this even his life right now? His legs feel like jello as he takes the last few steps. He honestly can’t believe his eyes. Louis knows that he doesn’t like bras and this top will leave nothing hidden, will practically put Harry’s breasts on display and _everyone_ will see. It’s like Louis _wants_ that.

 

Harry whirls around so fast he almost loses his balance in his haste to find Louis’ lips. It’s a bruising kiss, powered by so much ardour it’s intoxicating.

 

Louis presses back just as fiercely, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him closer. Harry glides his hands down to the small of Louis’ back, forcibly holding himself back from scooping Louis up into his arms.

 

They both linger when the drawback, and Harry steals a couple more pecks before he lets go, touching his forehead against Louis’ and cradling Louis’ face in his hands. “I love you,” he tells him, because those three words seem to encompass everything he’s feeling.

 

“I love you too,” Louis whispers, curling his fingers around Harry’s wrists and tipping his head up for another kiss. “Now go put it on.”

 

Harry grins against Louis lips, unspeakable joy bubbling inside of him. He kisses him once more and then breaks away, fingers dying to get a hold of the top. It looks just as dashing and spivvy on him as he thought it would, when he puts it on. The thin, see-through material flatters his skin and--unlike how he predicted--attracts focus away from his breasts, dispersing the attention across the rest of his body. 

 

Smiling so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt, he undoes the first couple of buttons from the top, unveiling more of his chest. He’s always loved to show off this area of his body, because it gives him this kind of unexplainable confidence, and Louis has helped him do so even now, despite the fact that he has a fair amount of cleavage.

 

Speaking of Louis, he seems to have run off somewhere. Harry glances around, but doesn’t catch sight of his boyfriend anywhere. Confusion masks elated happiness, but then he sees Louis coming out of the bathroom with a headband in his hand and everything becomes clear.

 

“Is that for me too?” Harry asks, smoothing his top over his chest. The shirt is a gutsy move, but he loves it so much already that there’s no way he’s going to change into something different. He already knows which black jeans he wants to wear.

 

Louis nods as he comes closer, tying the headband smugly to hold Harry’s curls back, but letting a few locks fall down near his temples. Harry dips down to press a kiss to Louis’ nose, revelling in the way Louis’ fingers halt their work for a moment before presuming. 

 

“How ever did I get so lucky with you?” he wonders, rubbing their noses together for a moment, tender touches that make Harry’s heart swell.

 

“You?” Louis says incredulously, “Think I’m the one who got lucky there.” 

 

Harry’s smile forces his dimples to show. He leans down and brings his lips toward Louis’ ear, softly crooning, “I just want it to be you and I forever.”

 

“God!” Louis chuckles, pushing him away. “You’re so fucking cheesy. Trying to serenade me with song lyrics that you wrote.” He wrinkles his nose, lips curling in faux distaste. “Gross.”

 

“You love it,” Harry quips, adjusting his headband.

 

“Sadly, yes.” Louis sighs dramatically, fixing his tight, white, adidas t-shirt. 

 

Harry nudges him softly the ribs and Louis flashes him a grin afterwards. “But really,” he says seriously, “Thank you for, like--being okay with all of this. I know it isn’t easy.”

 

“Anything for you, baby,” Louis tells him, sneaking a quick kiss to Harry’s sternum, and any hint of trepidation that Harry had earlier dissipates. He’s so amped for their show, ready to be _himself_ , regardless of what his body looks like.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The concert goes off without a hitch.

 

Harry’s a burst of energy from the opening chords of _Midnight Memories_ to the last notes of _Best Song Ever_ , feeding off the energy of the crowd and thrilled to kick off their first show in Canada, their first show in the North American leg of the tour. During _Little Black Dress_ , he’ll admit he felt like he was on cloud 9 for sure, all decked out in the same colour, cross necklace dangling around his neck as he walked around on stage. He doesn’t remember when he took his headband off and let his hair out, but he loved every second of it.

 

At first, he was worried about what his breasts would look like bouncing along when he jumped up and down, but then he thought, _who fucking cares_? And from then on, he just did whatever the hell he felt like doing, and it was great.

 

(There also may or may not be a couple of nice shots of him grabbing his crotch during _Better Than Words_ , whoops? It’s almost an instinctive gesture by now.)

 

Now that the post-show adrenaline’s died down, Harry climbs into bed, naked save for his underwear. Nothing can quite stop him from smiling right yet, still feeling the buzz from being on stage and doing what he loves.

 

His eyes start drifting shut when Louis crawls in behind him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade and draping an arm around his waist. Carefully, Harry rolls over so that he can snuggle into Louis’ side, laying his head on Louis’ chest, playing with Louis’ chest hair while Louis twirls his fingers through Harry’s curls.

 

It’s nice, really it is, but it’s not how they usually spend their nights, all wrapped up in each other. Louis is clearly keeping some distance between them, not initiating anything either, and as much as Harry understands why, as much as he appreciates it, it’s annoying too. Maybe his longing for his dick is causing him to be bitchy. Awesome.

 

And then there’s the other side to his thoughts, the doubts that linger with him. He can’t help but wonder how long he’s going to have this body for, if everything is going to be as challenging as it was today, whether or not Louis will still have him if this becomes permanent.

 

The last one makes him choke up a little, and he feels foolish for even thinking like that, but he can’t help it, not when he knows that Louis is gay and that he doesn’t exactly has a male body anymore. 

 

“Would you--” oh fuck, no no, don’t say anything, “I mean--like, I’m not--I don’t--” Harry stops, feeling frustrated at not being able to string his thoughts into more coherently sentences.

 

“What?” Louis asks, lips touching the top of Harry’s head.

 

Taking in a breath, Harry mumbles his deepest fear, “I’m scared you’re going to leave me.”

 

Louis’ fingers freeze in Harry’s curls and Harry can feel him holding his breath. “Because of what’s happened?” he enquires after too long of a moment. Harry nods his head as best he can, ear pressed to Louis’ bare chest. “Harry, look at me.” Slowly, Harry turns around and props himself up on his forearm, meeting Louis’ gaze for a brief second before he focuses on a spot on his neck. “Baby, I wouldn’t care if you had ten fucking huge warts on your forehead, I’d still love you no matter what.” Harry meets Louis’ eyes then, heart regaining its reassurance. “I want to be with you, because I’m in love with you, with your personality and all your quirky habits, not with your body. I mean, yeah I’m not exactly into vaginas, but… I’m sure we can work around that.” He skims his knuckles over the curve of one of Harry’s breasts. “And you know how much I love it when you show off your chest, but I don’t think I’m into these all that much either.” It’s the goofy smile beaming across Louis’ face that draws Harry in and he dips down to kiss him, sucking lightly on Louis’ upper lip.

 

“Thanks,” he says, kissing Louis’ jaw before pulling back and looking down at him.

 

“You’re welcome,” Louis murmurs, softly brushing the tips of his fingertips up and down Harry’s cheek. “I promised a lot of people that I’d marry you one day, remember that? Can’t let them all down just because your dick’s run away from you.”

 

The laugh that comes out of Harry’s mouth doesn’t sound normal. “You’re--such an arsehole,” he gasps between breathes. Louis simply grins and starts tickling him. And if this tickle fight doesn’t end with them getting each other, than it’s all right. Change can be a good thing at times.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Harry wakes up to something pressing uncomfortably against his chest.

 

Groaning, he tries to knock it off with his hand, but he’s still sleepily and doesn’t have much force to back up his sluggish movements. He carelessly swings his arm to the side, feeling for Louis to wake him up so he can do something about it. But his fingers just brush over empty bed sheets.

 

What the..?

 

Blinkingly slowly, he opens his eyes to his surroundings. He looks down his body, expecting to find breasts on his chest, but instead finds Louis between his legs, gripping his pec and sucking his dick. And sucking his dick. His dick. Harry has a _dick_.

 

“Oh--my god,” he moans, too many feelings rushing at him at once. He could have sworn he went to bed with a vagina and tits, but now he’s got a penis. A penis that Louis is very enthusiastically putting more and more of into his mouth. “Fuck,” Harry drawls, eyebrows furrowing from how good if feels. Louis chooses the moment to suck particularly hard, and Harry chokes on a breath, sucking in his gut. One hand reaches down to clutch at Louis’ forearm where it rests against his torso while the other cards through Louis’ hair.

 

Only Louis pulls off when he sees that Harry’s awake. No, no, no, why? “Morning.” His grin is sharp, but his voice is hoarse, and Harry can’t help but wonder how long he’s been going at this. Before he can ask, Louis leans down and runs his tongue along the underside of Harry’s dick, mumbling, “Missed your cock.”

 

“Je--sus,” Harry grunts and slides his hand to the back of Louis’ neck to guide him. Louis goes happily, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out before taking Harry to the back of his throat, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

 

He’s not sure if it’s because Louis is putting everything into this blowjob (most likely) or if it’s just because Harry _feels_ like he hasn’t been sucked off in forever, but he climaxes not even a minute later, shooting into Louis’ mouth and biting down on his bottom lip harshly. His grip on Louis’ arm loosens and he takes his hand out of Louis’ hair, panting out of his mouth as his orgasm washes over him.

 

Louis swallows his come eagerly, like he’s been waiting for it for the longest time and can’t get enough of it now he’s gotten a taste.

 

Harry doesn’t know how to feel about that.

 

Once he laps up everything, he kisses up Harry’s body, slowly, savouring every second. Harry gets impatient though--because he hasn’t touched Louis in, like, 24 hours and that should be illegal somewhere--and drags Louis up until they’re flush against one another and Harry can feel Louis’ hard-on near his stomach. Not wasting any more time, Harry wraps a hand around it, getting Louis off in quick tugs that have him pushing up into Harry’s fist and moaning into Harry’s neck, fingers digging into Harry’s biceps.

 

It doesn’t take long for Louis to come either, so desperate for it. Stroking him through it, Harry rubs a hand down his back while he calms down. Harry doesn’t remember the last time they got off like that, frantic and rushed, horny for the simplest things, but he’s missed that too.

 

Louis rolls off him after a minute, catching his breath, face flushed and hair tousled, but he’s grinning at the ceiling nevertheless. After a moment, he peeks over at Harry and smiles even wider when he notices Harry already looking at him. Cupping his jaw, Louis leans over to kiss him on the lips. Harry’s still recovering from an unexpected orgasm and therefore isn’t as respondent as he wishes he was, but Louis doesn’t complain so maybe it’s not too bad of a thing.

 

“Missed you,” Louis mutters when he pulls back, smiling softy.

 

“You too,” Harry says, “Sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what happened.”

 

Louis shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re back. Think that milkshake you drank the other night was funky.”

 

“Yeah, might have been.”

 

“Or some creepy, old lady got jealous of your curls and turned you into a girl for a day.”

Harry chuckles at that, because how can Louis make fun of him for saying weird shit when he’s the one who says it too? “I dunno, it feels like it was a dream. Like… where are the panties I feel asleep in?”

 

“True, but how could I have had the same dream as you?”

 

“Maybe that same old lady put the same dream into our heads just to fuck with us.”

 

Louis pulls a face. “That’s the weirdest sentence that’s ever come out of your mouth.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry aplogises, but he’s giggling anyway, because the only thing that makes sense is the fact that he’s still got his boy and maybe that’s all that matters at the moment. The rest he can figure out when he’s fully woken up.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Harry forgets about the whole thing until Niall catches up with him while they’re backstage waiting for the show to get started.

 

He’s putting on his headband for the night when his friend walks over, claps him on the back, and says, “Mate, I had the weirdest fucking dream about you last night.”

 

Louis is on the other side of the room, but his head snaps toward them when he hears the sentence leave Niall’s mouth.

 

Harry tries not to smile too broadly. He doesn’t really believe in magic, but there’s no other way to explain it.

 

“Maybe that voodoo lady really did fuck with us.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------


End file.
